


in memory of

by averagefaces



Category: 2PM (Band)
Genre: Break Up, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 11:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averagefaces/pseuds/averagefaces
Summary: junho doesn't know how to go about this, about break-ups. this is him hitting rock bottom and trying to pick himself up. it's chansung seeing him do well, perfect, having him know junho is ready to face him for the last time before he's ready to face the rest of the world.





	in memory of

**Author's Note:**

> published july 2013. revised march 2017, reposted december 2018. this is a work of fiction, no harm intended to any parties involved. please do not repost/copy or translate without permission. thank you for reading!

junho arrives at five half, sharp. it's started to rain, tiny drops running down the windshield of his car, curling around each other as they reach the bottom of the glass and get lost in the little puddle there. junho stares at it for a while, a long while, and when he finally gathers himself to push the door open, the rain is as heavy as it gets just before six.

he locks the car without looking up, refuses to do so, and buries his chin deeper into his scarf and the top of his jacket.

the walk towards the door is dreadful. and the worst part is junho shouldn't be feeling like this, not when everything that's happened in the last month is chansung's doing. this is rich, really, junho being the one to move out when chansung's the one at fault, and seriously, just.

junho wishes it were easier, wishes it didn't hurt this much – both having to go back and having to leave this place.

"yes?" comes chansung's voice through the tiny speaker at the buzzer.

junho has a key, he still has it, but he refuses to use it. he wants chansung to know he's here and he wants chansung to know precisely _why_ he's here. maybe it's pathetic, maybe it's not, but junho needs this – closure. he needs to gather his stuff and he needs to pick up the little shreds of his heart left at the bottom of the kitchen's sink and he needs chansung to see him do it.

junho _needs_ this, needs it almost as bad as he needs to leave, probably more, which is why he hasn't done so yet.

"it's me," he says. his voice comes out a bit choked and frozen, fog sipping past his lips as he leans in closer to the speaker.

chansung doesn't say anything. junho wasn't expecting him to.

the door opens with a faint buzz and junho pushes it open, his hands shaking and damp and just how fucking pathetic this whole thing is, honestly. and junho knows he could've asked wooyoung to come and get his stuff, or even nichkhun since he's been in town for a week now, but.

but junho's a masochist and he needs to be stupidly and utterly heartbroken before he puts himself back together, apparently.

when he reaches the fourth floor, chansung's standing at the door, still in his pajamas and hair ruffled. his feet are bare and his pants are riding low on his hips, his t-shirt askew and showing more of his collarbones than junho needed to see. he looks fucking impossible, chansung does. junho wants to pin him against the door and ruin him and just hold him there but. but not anymore. right.

"hey," chansung says. his eyes are guarded and his shoulders slump a bit as junho walks closer to the door. "i've been trying to –"

"i'm here for my stuff," junho says.

his voice cuts through the air between them, sharp. chansung's mouth closes with a loud snap, and they just _stand_ there, looking at each other with so many unspoken words written all over their faces; and junho thinks it's hilarious, how they both must be thinking this is the last thing they'd pictured each other doing in a visible future months ago.

of course back then chansung had no idea who wang fei fei was and neither did junho.

that gets junho to move, in the end, the thought of her, of chansung, of _them_. he waves a hand at the door - at chansung, without meaning to – and clears his throat, his eyes never leaving chansung's, and he wishes, _wishes_ he could burn chansung with them and make him feel at least part of what he feels.

"you realize you have to let me in, don't you."

chansung nods, neck and shoulders stiff as he moves to the side, and junho strides past him without looking back, without even taking his shoes off because the fucking floor is not his to clean anymore and junho wants chansung on his knees after he's gone, scrubbing the wet grit off the wood just so he can think about junho while he's at it.

the flat is quiet, the rain outside a bare whisper echoing off the windows and the walls, and if junho shivers a little when he walks past the – _theirs_ – bedroom door on his way to the laundry room, he blames it on the broken heater.

to anyone's surprise, the laundry room is a mess. he reaches for the closet next to the washing machine and steps on the tip of his toes to get the suitcase at the top, and he can hear chansung's steps behind him, the rustle of his feet over the carpet just as he stops in front of the door. junho busies himself unzipping the bag and stuffing every piece of clothing, he can find and is absolutely sure is his, be it clean or dirty.

chansung clears his throat once, twice, and junho holds his breath once, twice, but no words are spared and junho sighs, not because he's tired of this or because chansung's not even trying; junho sighs because he can't breathe, can't swallow past the lump in his throat, and it's been a fucking month already and he just wants _out_.

but it's impossible, it seems, because junho can't spend five minutes feeling like shit and thinking about chansung and how it was chansung – chansung who said always and forever and kissed him at a new year's party, chansung who junho shared everything with, gave everything to – who made him feel that way in the first place.

junho doesn't know how to go about this, about break-ups. this is him hitting rock bottom and trying to pick himself up. it's chansung seeing him do well, perfect, having him know junho is ready to face him for the last time before he's ready to face the rest of the world.

"junho." chansung sounds wrecked, like he's been screaming for hours, and junho finds sick satisfaction in it, in how fucking _destroyed_ he sounds because is just the way he feels inside. "can we – do you wanna –"

chansung falters, and again it's like junho wants to laugh at it, at chansung, but it doesn't make it past his throat, just coils at the pitch of his stomach, ugly and heavy and disdainful. he's much better than this, he reminds himself as he shoves the last pair of jeans he's got a hold of, and zips the bag.

"no," he says as he turns around, and he should get an award for how composed he sounds. "no, we can't, and no, i don't want to. whatever it is, i don't care."

chansung looks pale, and a preposterous voice in junho's brain says it'd be a great idea to kiss him better, warm him up and just _hold_ him. but junho shushes that voice away, moves on autopilot as he shoulders his way past chansung and heads to the bedroom, his grip on the bag's handle tightening the closer he gets there.

the bed is unmade. the sheets are rumpled and junho longs for them in the deepest core of his being. he knows he hasn't brought her home yet, knows because wooyoung works there and he thinks junho _wants_ to know about this sort of thing, when truthfully speaking all junho wants is for everyone to shut up and stop saying "it was a one time thing," because junho knows it wasn't.

he spares the bed a last glance before he drops the suitcase there and goes for the closet, and starts digging out coats and jumpers and jackets, all still on their hangers. it'll be a fucking pain to carry those back to the elevator and over to the car but this is a one-time trip, and junho refuses to come back.

"please. please, just – stop."

junho would laugh, would let the nasty peal of laughter lodged at the bottom of his stomach out, but his throat just won't open up that much. he doesn't face chansung, just automatically unhangs and drops his clothes on top of the bag, his eyes trained on the little piece of carpeted floor separating the bed and the closet.

"junho," and this time chansung's voice is coupled with his fingers wrapping around junho's wrist, and it's like junho burns with it, his skin tingling at the place where it ends and chansung's begins.

it's too much, physically too much, the way chansung is so much closer than he's been in the last weeks, the way junho's body angles itself toward chansung's, his hand still holding a blue jumper on its way to the on-growing pile on the bed. junho feels week, week and yet impossibly awake, his skin on the very edge of snapping with how tight he feels.

"let go," he rasps. chansung shakes his head, snatching the hook off junho's hand and dropping it to the floor carelessly. "chansung. let me go." junho lets it hang above them as he stares back into chansung's eyes, and they both know what he's talking about, they _do_.

and probably that's what makes it all the more painful.

"no," chansung says, biting as his lips. he shakes his head, "you can't just – i need to – i know i fucked up, junho, but you just can't –"

"don't you fucking dare tell me what i can or can't do," junho hisses out in a breath, and he tugs his wrist away, but chansung's hold doesn't budge.

chansung huffs, like whenever junho's being difficult, and that makes something in junho break into little million pieces – more than he already is, that is – because junho is not being difficult, he just want it to be over.

"i know i fucked up, okay, but just, fuck, give me –"

junho stiffens. "if you say _give me one more chance_ i swear to fucking god i'll punch you in the face."

they're talking in whispers and it makes it more intimate than it should be -  junho can't do this anymore, this pull-and-push because if he lets chansung push one more time he's going to tip off the edge of the fucking world. he's still looking chansung dead in the eye, and it's – it's sad, sad and upsetting, how they've come to this.

" _please_ , let go."

"no," chansung whispers, and takes another step forward, their knees knocking and chests barely an inch apart. "no, junho, i'm not gonna let you go."

junho should probably tell him that sounds like a terrible idea on his part because chansung _needs_ to let go eventually, should tell him this isn't what he came here for - this whole _talking_ thing – should tell him how fucking around with coworkers is not how you go about life especially if you're already fucking someone else.

but junho can't say it, can't say anything when chansung's looking at him like that and he's leaning closer, his breath crashing into the corner of junho's mouth – and junho should tell him to stop, to step the fuck back, but he _can't say shit_ and chansung's just _there_ , leaning in close but not close enough and junho _hates_ it, hates him and hates himself and hates fei and hates everyone for making his life so goddamn complicated and his heart so goddamn broken.

"please don't," junho utters – or he thinks he does – it's all the same, it doesn't matter, because chansung is closing the distance between their mouths and junho is parting his lips already and he can taste him, can taste the peppermint tea on chansung's breath and the mint of his toothpaste underneath it, and junho wants, wants, wants so much it scares him.

it's not a gentle kiss. it's bruising and demanding and junho's lips will be swollen later, but the angle is perfect and chansung's got his wrist pinned to the closet's door and junho clutches at his clothed hip, hard, fingers digging in and nails blunt where they find skin. chansung groans and junho swallows the sound and it's hot, unbearably so, because chansung's pressing closer, and junho can feel him even through four layers of fabric separating them, the hard outline of his cock as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

one of chansung's hands cups the side of his neck, his thumb along the curve of junho's cheek, and it's a gentle touch, it's a reminder of what was there and what they were, and what they are now, _who_ they are now in the grand scheme of things. junho refuses to let it simmer between them, pushes hard at chansung's chest until chansung's calves are hitting the end of the mattress and he lands heavily on top of it and right next to junho's clothes.

it's desperate, the way junho tugs on chansung's lower lip with his teeth as he clambers onto his lap, chansung's fingers still burning prints around junho's wrist. chansung makes a little sound at the back of his throat when junho straddles him, sits carefully on chansung's hips so they're aligned perfectly, and the hand that was busy at junho's face flies to the crook of his hip, fingers bruising as much as junho's are doing.

and maybe there should be no bruises, junho thinks distantly, because when he gets dressed for work in front of the mirror tomorrow, he's going to see them, he's going to remember chansung's hands on him and that's not something junho wants, not something he can handle. but junho isn't really the best at thinking right now, so he lets chansung's hands curl over his hips, lets chansung's fingers skim under his jacket until he reaches skin and drag his nails across it, the trail left behind burning deep into junho's bones.

they don't talk, talking is a reminder of _before_ s and _used to_ s when laughter and bickering gave way to heavy panting and soft moans muffled against any patch of skin possible. junho knows how to angle his hips on top of chansung's to have him pliant and ready to be ruined, knows chansung is a wreck when junho runs the tip of his tongue across the roof of his mouth, so he does – he grinds down on chansung, his tongue deftly finding chansung's, and it's too much, too much all too soon, apparently, because chansung's grip on his hips slide down to his thighs, fingertips pressed against junho's denim clad skin, and he's flipping them over like he's done many times before –

except now it's not gentle, it grabs junho by surprise, his chest heaving and eyes locking with the ceiling as chansung slides down the bed and undoes junho's fly, his mouth pressed to the inseam of his crotch as he slides the zipper down. just the thought of having chansung's mouth around his cock has him clenching his eyes shut, his hands balled in fists at his sides. he wants to touch chansung, wants to run his hands through chansung's hair as he fuck his mouth and throat but if he goes for it he might never want to let go – and junho _wants_ to let go.

this is goodbye sex or whatever, this is the stepping stone of his way into recovery. he needs to remember that.

chansung's mouth is wet and warm and junho arches his back off the bed at the first touch. his hands are flat on junho's thighs and his crumpled trousers, squeezing ever so lightly with every inch of junho's cock disappearing past his lips and. and junho would really like to watch him, watch chansung and his lips stretched over his cock as he takes him all the way to the back of his throat, but bringing himself to do it proves to be much harder than thinking about it.

junho decides it'll be worst if he holds it off. he should come right now, let his mind drift off and focus on the tightness of chansung's mouth as he swallows around the head of his cock and be over with it, but he can't. his hips buck up off the mattress and junho forces himself to look down, his teeth clamped over his lower lip as he meets chansung's gaze and slicken, stretched lips.

junho doesn't want to say it – is not sure what is it he wants to say, either – but chansung gets it. he pulls off junho's cock and gets back on the bed, all the while pushing his grey pants down his thighs until they pool around his knees. they look at each other through it all – through chansung shoving junho's jacket out of the way and rucking his sweater and shirt up his stomach, his fingers hovering along junho's stomach – and when he's back on top of junho, junho instinctively reaches out to steady his hips. it reminds him painfully of the first time and he has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying it out loud.

chansung's lips are shiny and red when he kisses junho again, one of his hands stretching across the bed to reach for the nightstand. he grinds his hips low, the cleft of his ass right against junho's cock, and it makes junho groan at the back of his throat, his fingers digging deeper into chansung's skin until chansung's moaning with it, hips rocking faster and lips turning sloppy.

junho watches as chansung opens himself up. it's gonna take a long fucking time for junho to forget about this particular view but he can't be bothered to care at the moment, not when every time chansung pulls his fingers out of himself his knuckles slide along the head of junho's cock. it's maddening and junho digs his thumb's nails on the hollow of chansung's hips in retaliation - and he pretends the little tug on chansung's lips was just a trick of his imagination.

when chansung deems himself ready, he kneels up, kicks his pants out of the way, and frames junho's hips with his thighs. he produces a condom out of fucking nowhere and rolls it over junho's cock with shaky fingers, his eyes so, _so_ fucking sad. junho holds his breath as chansung starts to lower himself, his mouth parted and his eyes glazed over, and he has to shut his to prevent another dreadful picture burn itself at the back of his eyes.

chansung fucks himself at a slow pace, rides junho in small, tight circles that have junho seeing tiny dots of light at the corner of his eyes. chansung's got a hand braced over junho's chest and another next to his head, and his mouth is hovering close to junho's the whole time, breathing in whenever junho exhales this shaky, little things. chansung is tight, impossibly so, and junho can't stand it but can't seem to bring it to be over, either.

in the heat of the moment – because that's all it is – junho leans up and catches chansung's mouth with his own. chansung moans into it, these soft, hiccupy things, tilting his head to the side to let himself deeper into junho's mouth and junho lets him, lets him set the pace because junho certainly can't handle shit at the moment. chansung's tongue is languid and lazy against his, and they move like that for a while, until it's too much for junho and the tightness in his heart threatens to make it stop altogether.

when junho thrusts up and chansung meets him halfway, chansung stiffens slightly, his whole body shuddering for a second before he's ramming himself back down on junho's cock, hard and fast impossibly perfect. junho moans into chansung's mouth, his hands spanning around the expanse of his lower back to hold him there as junho fucks up into him, and it's mind-blowing, how chansung braces himself with both hands at either side of junho's head and _takes_ it, eyes boring into junho's and lips parted to let his moans out.

so junho thrusts up harder, faster, watches as chansung's eyes fall shut and his head lolls forward onto junho's neck and his mouth presses on his t-shirt just above his heart, muttering things junho tries his hardest not to catch, and it _hurts_ , hurts junho deep inside because this isn't how things were supposed to go, never.

chansung's panting quietly into junho's neck as he comes, cock un-touched and sliding against junho's stomach as it erupts in white, and junho holds him there, fucks him through the high and the low of his orgasm, and he's almost there, too, right over the edge with a deep moan muffled into chansung's temple and his eyes clenched shut.

 _it's gonna be okay_ , junho thinks feebly, white noise in his ears. it will, it _has_ to be.

they're still breathing hard by the time chansung props himself up and rolls to junho's side, the one that doesn't have a mountain of clothes ready to be taken away. junho opens his eyes slowly and pointedly avoids looking at chansung as he ties the condom and throws it at the bin by corner. while he's at it, he leans to the side and grabs a corner of the sheets to clean himself off.

it's a bit douche-y of him, but desperate times and all that.

he cleans himself up in silence, listening as chansung does the same no more than two feet away from him. junho doesn't let himself think about how when they first moved in they didn't leave the room for a whole weekend and now it's like if junho spends five more minutes in it he's going to go fucking mental.

when he's done zipping his pants up and fixing his t-shirt and gets to his feet, chansung just remains sat. he's fully clothed again, top and pajama bottoms where they should be, and junho feels a pang of guilt again, out of nowhere. they've fucked just _now_ , still half clothed, and now they're dressed again like nothing's happened and that – well.

junho takes a deep breath and reaches for the pile of jackets on the bed, chansung's eyes burning holes on his skin as he does so. he manages to get an arm free to slide the strap of the bag over his shoulder, and then he just stands there, looking at the walls as he gets himself together before facing chansung.

"this is it, then," chansung says quietly. his voice is wrecked but his eyes are bright.

junho nods, wetting his lips. "yes," he says. "this is it."

chansung nods and looks away, his jaw set, and junho doesn't ask why is he upset, doesn't ask if he's feeling well even if the words are tied around the tip of his tongue. he tightens his arm around his clothes, shouldering the strap back on as he mutters, "goodbye, chansung," out the corner of his mouth and heads to the door.

when he closes the door behind him, it feels final, and junho knows it'll take a while until he's okay with that.

 


End file.
